Blood and Alcohol
by Tanya Reed
Summary: DEATH FIC WARNING. An AU story that takes a strange left turn in the middle of All Choked up. How does Sydney deal with the consequences of Carson Inez's mind control?


Blood and Alcohol

by Tanya Reed

Hey! Here's a little something that came to me when watching "All Choked Up". I always wondered what would have happened if Sydney hadn't been able to fight the necklace in that most crucial moment in the end. When I watched the show last week, my muse decided she was going to find out. I hope you like the result.

Be forewarned of two things: 1. This is a death fic. It's also chock full of angst. 2. There are spoilers for "All Choked Up". If you haven't seen that episode, you might be slightly confused by this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Relic Hunter or its characters; I only wish that I did. No profit is being made from this story. Oh, and the "Five Nudes of Cairo" isn't mine either. It belongs to Remington Steele and MGM.

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The blood was everywhere. It covered her hands and arms, and it soaked through her clothes to the skin beneath. She could feel it dripping from her hair, running down her face like tears. It stung her eyes and filled her mouth and nose. When she breathed, she brought it into her lungs. It was smothering her. Sydney coughed and choked, struggling to free herself.

She was still fighting the blood when she jerked awake and into a sitting position. She gulped air, forcing it into lungs that were constricted with terror. Her whole body trembled and sweat ran down her forehead and back. It felt so much like the blood in her dream that her tremors increased.

Silently, she wrapped her arms around her body and willed it to stop shaking. After a few moments, the dream began to recede, and Sydney slowly started pulling herself back together. She couldn't believe how, after all these years, the dream of blood still had the power to undo her.

With a snarl, she pushed the last tendrils of the dream away and, almost violently, threw aside the covers. Even though death and blood had long since ceased to bother her, she knew that the blood running through her dreams was different. It was the only blood on her hands that really mattered, and it belonged to the only one of her victims that she'd give her life to have back again.

Sydney ran a hand through her tangled hair. Her small shift clung to her damp skin like a lover. With disgust, she ripped the nightdress over her head and left it to dangle on the edge of the bed.

"Get a grip," she whispered fiercely.

The room was familiar to her so she didn't bother to turn on a light as she made her way to the bathroom. It was still dark, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She never could after seeing his blood in her dreams.

The bathroom light, she did turn on. She wanted to stare into the eyes of the woman she'd become. The tanned face that looked back at her was still attractive despite the life it had lived over the past five years. It had the cold, dead eyes of a killer and a mouth that had long since forgotten how to smile. The hair that lightly touched Sydney's shoulders was still dark, with no hints of gray.

She stared at herself for several minutes, knowledge of what she was thumping in her temples to the beat of her heart. Sydney Fox. Ruthless relic hunter. Adventurer. Hitman for hire. Broken.

Her gaze dropped when she could no longer face the blankness of her own eyes. She went to the shower and started the spray, hoping to wash away the memories. She knew that today, of all days, it might not be easy. It was five years to the day.

As she discarded her last piece of clothing, she changed her mind and decided to let the memories flow with the water. She owed this much to him, at least. She would let herself remember so that he could live again.

She closed the shower curtain and let the water gently hit her face. The spray seemed to whisper his name.

...Nigel...

And suddenly, she was there again.

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"I must kill Nigel. He will take the necklace. Without it, I will die."

The foreign words ran through her head, and she was powerless to stop them. Deep inside her mind, she knew that something was wrong. The bit of her that understood what was going on struggled to get free, but the power of the necklace was just too strong. Those words, words that were in her head  
but somehow were not hers, kept drowning out any protest. Sydney's body seemed to move on its own volition.

As she rounded the corner, she saw him. He looked so frightened. His eyes were round in his pale face, and his hand was shaking. In that shaking hand, he held a gun. Even through the alien blankness that smothered her mind, Sydney knew that Nigel would never be able to pull the trigger.

Part of Sydney cried out at the expression on his face. It was one of the most heartbreaking things she had ever seen. For just one instant, she hesitated.

Sensing her reluctance, the alien thoughts began to roar, louder and louder, drowning out Nigel's soft, tentative, "You wouldn't."

"You must kill him. Kill Nigel. He will betray you. He wants only the necklace."

Somewhere inside herself, Sydney was screaming in defiance of whatever had taken control of her mind. She fought against it, even though it meant fighting against her own body.

In dread, that part of her watched as her body seemed not to hear either her silent scream or Nigel's bewildered plea. Her arm shot out, knocking the gun from his hands. Her other arm raised the knife and slashed at him. He stumbled backwards. Her knife caught the front of his shirt, splitting it and nipping the soft flesh beneath.

"Sydney, please, don't do this," he panted. "You've got to fight Carson. You don't want to kill me..."

Her body refused to listen to his words and slashed at him again. This time, her knife dug deep into his flesh. It went in to the hilt, only stopping when blade met bone.

A look of pain crossed Nigel's face, and she saw the horror at her betrayal in his eyes. Then, he toppled to the floor.

As he fell, the compulsion to kill him suddenly lifted. She gasped and dropped to her knees beside him. Panic sliced through her, and the part of her that had been smothered by the necklace made a desperate lunge and broke free.

"Nigel!"

One quick glance was enough to show that her blow had been a killing one. Breath labourously rasped through parted lips speckled with blood. Desperately, she reached for his hand, only to have it snatched away as his body spasmed in a violent cough. More blood came from his mouth, and the terrible rasping stopped. When the spasm was over, the corridor was silent, and Nigel was unnaturally still.

The necklace screamed at Sydney to return to Carson, but she ignored it. There was no resistance the second time she took Nigel's hand, and she knew with finality that he was dead.

Words whirled through her mind, this time stifling the demanding voice of the necklace. She spoke them in soft whispers. "Oh, Nigel, what have I done?"

On any given occasion, she would have given her life for him. How had it come to her taking his? He was the person she depended on, leaned on, trusted above all others, and that voice had forced her to destroy him.

As she stared at Nigel, a million memories went through her mind. She saw him as he had been his first day as her assistant, and she saw the man he had become over the past three years.

Tears flooded her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Her now free mind wept with rage and shrieked with grief. None of that came from her mouth. Instead, her teeth were clenched together. She reached out and touched him, caressing his soft hair and his cheek. She tried not to notice the fact that his eyes stared sightlessly upward and there was blood on his chin.

She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but she didn't dare to open her mouth. If she did, all the pain and shame would burst from her, and she would break into a million pieces. Not knowing why it mattered, just knowing that it did, she used all of her control to keep herself together.

It was all clear to her now. As Nigel had said, Carson used the necklace and the words that were scratching her skin from were they were tucked away in her shirt to control her thoughts. She lifted her palm and read what was written there in blue pen.

"Don't trust Carson. Give Nigel words."

It was too late now. Soon, Carson would be coming to find her. She would say the words and praise Sydney and make Sydney glad that Nigel was dead. That could not happen. Sydney wouldn't let it.

She reached forward and grabbed the handle of her knife. She sniffled as the tears came faster. Was she strong enough to rip her knife from her dead friend's body? She didn't know, but she had to try. She had to remove the necklace.

"Without the necklace, you will die..." the voice whispered in her mind.

Sydney curled a lip in defiance. What did her life matter now? She had murdered Nigel, and with him went every reason she could think of to live. How long had she loved him? She had no idea. Only recently had she come to the conclusion that she might. Now, with his lifeless body before her, she knew. She loved him with everything she had—her heart, her mind, her soul—and she would never love again. Not only that, she would have to live every day for the rest of her life knowing he had died at her hand. Death didn't look so bad.

This thought gave her the courage to draw the knife from Nigel's body. Even so, she had to close her eyes to do it. She could not bear to see his tender flesh clinging to her blade as if still clinging to life.

Sydney felt his blood on her hands. It stuck to her fingers and tickled as it slid across her skin. Teardrops and blood mingled, leaving crazy tracks in their wake. Her eyes opened and stared at the pattern for several seconds. It would take almost no effort for Sydney to draw the knife across her own wrist, ending the pain she was fighting and mixing her blood with his.

But Sydney had never believed in suicide, and even the devastation she was feeling couldn't drive her to it. Instead of slashing her wrist, she reached for the necklace, hoping it would grant her what her own hands could not.

As she expected, the necklace resisted when she tried to undo the clasp with her fingers. She made the effort several times anyway, succeeding only in scraping her hands against the harsh angles of the necklace. Refusing to be deterred, she took the knife, still dripping with Nigel's blood, and began attempting to use it to pry the clasp apart. At first, she nicked her fingers as metal slid off of metal. She ignored the sting and continued to stubbornly work at her collar.

Finally, something snapped and the necklace fell away. As it did, a searing pain suddenly ripped through Sydney's mind. It tore at her, feeling as if someone had stabbed her in the temple with her knife. Her world turned red and black and gray, and her body went completely numb. Everything that she was began twirling around the agony. It whirled faster and faster, yanking bits of her into the sharp edged vortex. A voice was screaming somewhere in the tunnels, and Sydney didn't have enough mind left to wonder if it was hers.

Then, blissfully, warm silence and sweet oblivion reached out for her. She fought against the frozen tendrils of her mind, trying to reach back. She sighed as the two touched and she fell senseless to the floor.

When Sydney came back to herself, her mind felt scraped and raw. Her body was limp from exhaustion, and she couldn't move. She couldn't even open her eyes or shift her face out of the dirt. The only part of her that seemed to be working properly were her ears.

Footsteps echoed around her. They sounded way too loud for Sydney's wounded mind. She knew she should know who the footfalls belonged to, but she couldn't remember the name.

"What happened here?" The voice was deep for a woman's and angry. In an echo of Sydney's earlier sentiment, it continued, "Oh, Sydney, what have you done?"

There was a sigh and a rattle right near Sydney's sensitive ears. It sounded as if the owner of the voice had picked up something pliable from the ground.

"Ah, well. I guess this saves me the trouble of killing you myself. I just wish you would have lived long enough to show me how to open the damn door."

There was a pause, and then the footsteps started walking away. Sydney knew that the person belonging to the voice was the cause of her pain. She wanted to jump up and fight. Her soul demanded it, but still she could not move.

As she lay there, the fog and pain began to dissipate. Soon, her thoughts were moving again, but very slowly. The first thing she remembered was that her name was Sydney. The second, Nigel was dead.

Pain and grief hit her in a wave. Its force was almost strong enough to shatter what the necklace had left of her mind. Tears came to Sydney's eyes, and she had no strength to fight them. They leaked down her face, soaking the dirt. Powerless to move, all she could do was lie there and weep.

Without the necklace, full realization of what she had done overwhelmed her. The knowledge would not be denied. Memories came flooding back, and there was nowhere she could go to run from them. She remembered Carson Inez; she remembered the necklace. Worst of all, she remembered how it had felt to ram the knife into Nigel's flesh.

"Nigel..." She wanted to whisper his name, but her lips refused to move.

Suddenly, a scream filled the chamber. It was accompanied by a rumble and a shaking Sydney was sure didn't come from the volcano. Then, everything was still. Her intuition told her that Carson's quest for the statue of Athena had failed.

The corridor was not still for long. The volcano in the distance gave an occasional rumble and the ground an occasional shake. She could feel the vibrations from them both. She had no idea how long she lay there before she realized she could finally move. Experimentally, she turned her face from the dirt and blinked the grit from her eyes.

When that didn't make her collapse bonelessly, she tried her arms and legs. They were hard to move but not impossible. With great effort, she pushed herself to her hands and knees. She knew she didn't have much time. If she didn't want Nigel to be buried in a molten hell, she'd have to get him out of there as quickly as she could.

That thought drove her forward. Her eyes were blurry, so she groped her way across the floor until her hand touched cloth. She rolled the piece of Nigel's shirt in her fingers, remembering how he felt when he slept on her shoulder. His shirt was always soft against the bare skin of her arm, and he always smelled so wonderful.

"I'm so sorry," she rasped, and the tears threatened to fall again.

With determination, she drove them away. This was not the time for them. She would grieve when Nigel's body was safe in Athens. She owed him that, at least.

Her hand went from his shirt to his face. His skin was smooth and cold. The chill seeped into her fingers.

She didn't even know if she could stand, but she said, "All right, then. Let's see about getting you out of here."

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Sydney shut off the shower and leaned against the cool tile of the wall. It was her anchor to the present. Its hard reality dimmed the memory of how Nigel's body had felt in her arms. Somehow, Sydney had managed to drag them both back to Nigel's boat. She had no idea how because all she could remember of the journey was the torture of grief. She could also faintly recall someone taking his body and asking if Carson Inez had killed him. What her reply was, she'd never knew, but it must have been enough, because Sydney was left on her own.

The months following Nigel's death had been the hardest in her life. She saw him everywhere. At first, he was there in front of her, that horrible look of betrayal in his eyes. Then, it was just glimpses out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes, she thought she heard his voice only to whirl and find no one there. And then there were the nightmares. Mostly, they were of blood, but occasionally she saw his pleading face, full of pain and shattered faith. Like MacBeth, she frantically tried to scrub his blood from her hands, but it clung tenaciously.

Afraid to face those that had known her and crippled by guilt, Sydney hadn't even gone home. Instead, she found a home for Mafdet and tendered her resignation by phone.

Knowledge of what she had done tore at her mind. She couldn't sleep and she could hardly eat. Her sense of self cracked and fell to pieces.

Sydney felt herself began to tremble as she thought of those days. Nigel's face came to her mind, his expression shouting accusations louder than any words. As with every morning, Sydney had to face the fact that she had murdered him.

She pushed against the tile, righting herself. Her hands shook so badly, she had trouble opening the shower curtain. Lord, she needed a drink. Though Sydney still wasn't much of a drinker—at least not since Stewie Harper, of all people, had found her sloshed in a relic hunter bar in Minsk four years ago and pulled her out of the bottle with the promise of a hunt—she thought, if given the opportunity, she might kill for one at the moment. Blackly, she scowled and knew that before the day was over, she just might.

Clenching her hands into fists, she forced away the trembling. She took a deep breath and allowed ice to slowly creep in and take over her mind and body. Living in a world devoid of thought and emotion was the only way she could face what she had done. With relief, she felt the familiar stone-like expression come to her face. Then, she went back to the bedroom to get ready to face the day.

There was something comforting about moving in complete anonymity in a crowd, Sydney thought a half an hour later as she made her way towards L'adventurier Vigoureux. She was one her way to meet with a possible client so, with effort, she turned her mind away from Nigel to focus on the job ahead. Yesterday, she had been contacted by a private collector who wanted her to steal a priceless painting called "The Five Nudes of Cairo" from another collector. They were meeting today to discuss the details.

She knew, but only in the vague sort of way she allowed herself these days, that once she would have found the job abhorrent. In fact, most of the things she did these days would have disgusted the woman she had been. In a way, she wished she could recall more about that woman and what she stood for, but when she tried to think of her, it brought thoughts of Nigel and the images slithered through her fingers. All she knew was that the Sydney of the past would have despised the Sydney of the present.

Her thoughts were cut off and her anonymity shattered when she heard a woman gasp. Sydney focused her gaze outward and studied the features that were now staring at her with white-faced shock. They belonged to a very pretty young woman with wide blue eyes. Sydney knew she ought to know her. Those elegant cheekbones and the pert ears that slyly peeked out between strands of blond hair were so very familiar.

"Sydney?" The girl's voice choked out. "Sydney Fox?"

Knowledge hit Sydney like a hammer blow to the gut. Her heart started beating so wildly she thought it might burst through her chest. She felt her stomach clench, and her ears began to ring loudly. A cold sweat began to form at Sydney's temples as her face flushed.

Karen.

Sydney didn't know if she would be able to speak. Even though she had only known Karen for a handful of months, they had grown quite close. She knew that if she spoke to Karen, the blond would ask her about Nigel. Just the thought made Sydney's tight stomach flip.

Through numb lips, she forced out, "I'm sorry...You've mistaken me for someone else."

Then, she hurried forward, dodging people. Hopefully, she could lose herself in the crowd.

"Sydney?...Sydney?"

Karen's voice followed her, but Sydney refused to turn around. She just kept weaving through people, moving as quickly as she could without running. Her lungs burned for air, but she had forgotten how to breathe. The pulse pounding in her ears sounded like drums. Her body wanted to drop to the sidewalk and curl into a ball.

It was several minutes before Sydney was able to slow down and push everything away. She swallowed the lump in her throat and grit her teeth. Angrily, she forced calm on herself and raised her chin in determination. She refused to crack.

She took a deep breath. Her tight lungs reluctantly let in air, so she took another. Her pulse began to slow, but her stomach refused to relax.

"I am not that woman anymore," she whispered fiercely to herself. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters."

By the time she walked into L'adventurier Vigoureux, she almost believed.

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Stewie Harper, rogue, rascal, and schmuck, walked buoyantly into L'adventurier Vigoureux. He was feeling optimistic, which was unusual for him. Just yesterday, he had steered a client Sydney's way, and he was hoping she would bring him along—and share the take.

His steps faltered as he saw a familiar figure slumped over the bar. The smile fell from his face, and he groaned. The figure pushed itself into a slouched half-sitting position, and Stewie was glad to see that she hadn't actually passed out.

How long had it been, he though absently as he approached the bar, since he had seen her completely plastered? Doing the calculations, his eyes widened. He couldn't believe it had actually been four years. He remembered sharply how it had felt to find her, quite by accident, drunk and broken, in that bar in Minsk. Once, Stewie had believed that he had traded and sold all of his shreds of decency. He proved himself wrong when he took Sydney in and used the promise of a hunt to help her pull herself together.

"Hey, Stewie," Sydney slurred when she noticed him.

She wore her business clothes, pants and top both deep red, and her hair had once been up in a no-nonsense braid. That had come undone long ago, and tendrils of dark hair wisped around her handsome face. Her eyes looked blurry but they had lost the appearance of hard black stones that he had become used to. Some of Sydney had seeped back into them.

"Hey, Syd. Whatcha doing?"

She laughed. It had the harsh, dry quality of underuse. "Drinkin'. Wanna join me?"

"Sure. Did you talk to Bensen?"

She looked at him unsteadily, swaying just a bit. "Who?"

He leaned in closer and whispered, "The nudes."

"Oh, him," Sydney waved a hand vaguely, narrowly missing the side of Stewie's face. "Hours ago. The information's in my bag."

Stewie stepped away warily. "Good."

She turned from him and her head once more drooped towards the bar. If she were any other person, Stewie knew that vultures would be circling, but, even now, after all that had happened, the name Sydney Fox was spoken with both begrudged respect and fear.

Stewie turned to the barkeep and opened his mouth. He was going to ask for a scotch on the rocks, so he was surprised when something much more sensible came out. "Just a diet cola, please."

Beside him, Sydney began to mumble incoherently. He eyed her carefully, wondering what had brought on this bout of drinking. As if in response to his thought, her voice rose slightly and he could just barely hear what she was saying.

"Nigel's dead, Stewie...he's dead and I killed him...I didn't want to. She forced me to do it, and now he's dead...The blood...it won't come off. I try and try...I'm drowning..."

Her eyes came up and looked into his. Through the haze of alcohol, he saw pain and hopelessness. It was the complete opposite of the cheerfulness she'd met him with just a few minutes before. He figured this was the clue to her inebriated state.

Not knowing what to say, he just replied, "Yes. Nigel is dead."

"What am I going to do?"

"The same thing you've been doing for the past five years. Survive."

She turned back to her drink. Picking it up, she peered into it as if it held all the answers. "What if I don't want to survive?"

"There'll be none of that," he said, a hint of anger in his voice as he took the glass from her unresisting fingers. "I think it's time you got out of here."

"Just one more drink," she protested as Stewie painfully took out his wallet to pay her tab. He grimaced at the amount given by the barkeep but paid it without protest.

"I don't think so."

Even though she could break him in half if she wanted to, even as drunk as she was, Stewie took the chance of hauling her to her feet. Normally as graceful as a cat, now she could hardly keep upright. He wound up bracing her with a hip as he reached for her bag.

"Don't wanna go..." she sighed.

"It's okay. We'll go get some coffee in you. You'll see. Everything will be fine."

"Nigel would hate me. I hate me."

Stewie paused and looked at her. He felt his throat constrict for a moment as he thought of the woman he used to know. He had loved her, despite the fact that he always knew the feeling could never be returned. He probably always would. Every time he saw her, it hurt just a little bit more. He'd give anything to see her eyes snapping in anger and the proud lift of her chin. He wouldn't even mind seeing her lip curl up in disgust when she said his name as it had sometimes. Instead, her eyes were hollow and dead, and he knew she relived Nigel's death over and over in her head.

He swallowed and tightened his arm around her. Despite her protests, she clung to him.

"Come on, Sweetcheeks," he said.

The end.


End file.
